


I Suppose It's Always Been like This

by LadyArinn



Series: Somehow I Suppose it's Love [2]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, First Kiss, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-14 11:11:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7168661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyArinn/pseuds/LadyArinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur has always been ready to fall in love. He's waited his whole life for the person who was worthy of it, for the person who he could look at and be with for the rest of forever. He'd carefully planned and he'd been ready for the chance that he would one day find them.</p>
<p>"Them" turned out to be Eames, and Arthur's plans had turned out to be allergic to any involvement with Eames.</p>
<p>Is it any wonder he fell hopelessly in love with the man?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Suppose It's Always Been like This

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CaptainKenway](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainKenway/gifts).



> Once again, for CaptainKenway.
> 
> If any of you are also participating in Ramadan, I hope you're having a good time of it! I'm in Morocco right now, so it's been really fun for me.

 

When Arthur had been small and it had just been him and his mother, his father off working or boozing or whatever the man had cared to be doing at the time, she would read him fairytales. Classic ones from an old book from her childhood that she kept safely hidden underneath the stack of photo albums in the chest at the end of her bed, the pages stiff with age and the binding loose from love.

Sometimes, when the world had gotten too difficult he’d remember those nights, remember listening to the slight woman who’s life had never been what she had dreamed telling him about princes and princesses who would meet their true loves and know, peasants who would save royalty and with just a brush of hands they’d see their entire future in each other’s eyes. Of realities where love was all that was needed to save the world and the day and all the people who needed saving. He’d look at his mother and wish that such a thing could happen in real life because there was no one he loved as much as he loved his mother, and surely he could save her then.

His father had been a mechanic in the town’s only auto shop, something that hadn’t survived the big chain shops moving in added with the recession, things he ended up not being able to survive either. His mother worked in the local factory, sorting produce all day alongside numerous other equally weary individuals who were stuck right alongside her, and she had always survived no matter what. They’d met after high school, and had dated a few years before getting married and having Arthur a year later. His parents had not been soul mates, and by the time Arthur had grown out of the toddler stage of his life they hadn’t even been in love. But the world is cruel and so are the people in it, and they had stayed together.

His mother had always wanted more from life and some nights, the two of them hidden under the seemingly impenetrable safety of his bedcovers, she would whisper her secrets.

_I wanted to be a teacher_ , she’d tell him, brushing his curls off his forehead, _But I met your father when I was working to raise money for school and it just didn’t happen. Maybe I would have been bad at it. Probably would have,_ she’d shrug, a sad twist to her lips, _I wish I would have tried it, though._

I _tried to move to the city once. I didn’t have enough money to stay, but I always wanted to go back. Maybe you and I…_ She’d start, trailing off and then shaking her head, sealing her lips against the sacrilege Arthur pretended he hadn’t heard because hope was a terrible thing.

_I wanted to dye my hair,_ She’d laugh, the sound a bit strained and wistful, _Blonde, or maybe a red. Something different and fun and could you imagine it, baby? Me, flouncing around like that?_ He could have, and she would have been beautiful because she would have been happy. All he’d wanted was for her to be happy.

_I always wanted a big family. At least three kids, I had always said, and at least one of each._ _Small hands always in mine, perfect little faces._ She’d sigh heavily, closing her eyes against the dreams she’d been forced to give up.

_At least I have you._ She’d always smile at the end, cupping his cheeks in her rough hands, peppering sweet kisses all over his face. _My perfect little prince. You’re going to do so much, so much more than I ever could. And you know, it’s okay if you don’t do those things either. Because sometimes settling for less than you are worth is okay. It doesn’t have to be a bad thing._

He had always known she was talking about herself, but had never said anything. Maybe he should have.

His father wasn’t big, wasn’t loud or imposing with his presence. He was an average sized man with eyes that were sunk into his face, who smiled only occasionally and looked handsome when he did. Arthur had gotten his hair but not much else from him.

_Nothing else, please god nothing else._

His mother was taller than his father by a few inches, with black hair she’d once cut defiantly short – only the once, but when she’d first come home with that short little bob he’d never seen her look so brave. But usually it hung just past her shoulder blades, soft and fluffy, curling up at just the ends. It was almost always pulled back, low at the nape of her neck, such a resigned hairstyle that it was almost painful to look at. Her eyes were brown and soft, gentle things that held promises of what could have been, but he’d never seen them broken.

Never broken, despite it all.

And Arthur had gotten those eyes, as well as his ears, his chin, his smile, and his hands from her. She’d told him wistfully they were musician’s hands, and had tried and had briefly succeeded to get him piano lessons when he’d been small. They had lasted for about four weeks until they were stopped, and he still remembers how sad and resigned she had looked at the ending of yet another dream.

His mother was kind and beautiful, though in truth she was plain looking. But she was still the most beautiful woman Arthur had ever seen, and the strongest.

He could remember some of the nights she had gotten home from overtime, those lovely musicians hands cracked and scabbed over from work, smelling like nothing good and wearing threadbare t-shirts and jeans that were a few sizes too big. And he remembers how she’d sometimes sneak into his room instead of starting on dinner like she was supposed to, crouching down beside him where he was sitting at the old desk they’d gotten for ten dollars at a yard sale, and she’d ask him what he was learning from his school work.

She’d wearily lean her head against his desk while he told her about the revolutionary war or Pythagorean’s theorem, and he’d gently pet her somewhat greasy hair, staying quiet so that they wouldn’t be overheard and so that the moment of rest wouldn’t be shattered.

She had come to every single one of his award ceremonies, no matter if she had had to beg or plead or trade shifts, and she’d always gotten a front row seat, prouder than anyone else could possibly be. She had snuck out of bed despite the consequences to help him with his science project in fourth grade because he had wanted to beat Kelly Mitchel so badly, and had helped to hide it from his dad just in case, smiling so big when he’d brought home the second place ribbon where Kelley Mitchel hadn’t even placed. She was the one to take him aside when he’d been twelve, on one of those nights when it had just been them, and had sat him down to explain everything she could about how his body would change with puberty. And what she hadn’t known, they’d figured out together later on, peering at the pages of the library’s anatomy book as they had searched for the answers to their questions.

She was the one who checked him over for bruises every night, never mind her own.

She was the one who had told him that fairytales could come true. Certain ones, so long as  
they depended on the person.

So when he had asked her, under the safety of his covers one night just before he had gotten too big for it to be a regular thing, “Do you believe in soulmates?” He had waited for her words with the anticipation of an apostle awaiting the word of God.

She’d gotten a distant, yearning look in her eye, like she’d had one too many dreams that she wished would come true, and he knew she had but still having it confirmed had hurt. And then she’d whispered, “Yes. There is someone out there for us, baby. Someone who will love and protect us no matter what. Someone just as amazing as us, perfectly worthy for us. There’s someone like that out there for everyone, if they can manage to find them.”

And he had believed her, and had never stopped.

 

* * *

 

Arthur doesn’t look back when he meets his soulmate, doesn’t bother to because it was a moment he’d been waiting for. Not actively, of course, the statistics were too significant to ignore the fact that the likelihood of him meeting his soulmate at all was unlikely, so he’d been waiting in a more passive way.

He hadn’t expected it, but he had planned for it just in case.

He’d always thought that if he met his soulmate, it wouldn’t go like… Well, not like in the books and movies but at least well. They’d talk, they’d agree, "Oh my gosh, what are the odds? We’re so lucky!" and then they’d keep talking. They’d get together, go on dates, talk and bond and share interests. Whoever it was would understand his work so they’d travel a lot. A lot, a lot, but eventually they’d settle. He’d do security work maybe, something where he still had an outlet, and they’d get a house somewhere decent. Something with an apartment for his mother.

It would be in the city then, just for her. She’d love it.

But of course, despite how much or how well he’d planned, he could never have planned for Eames.

It was difficult at first because Eames wasn’t the sort to go along with plans, even if he didn’t know about them. But eventually, thankfully, everything had turned out fine. They went on dates. They sometimes touched, hesitant brushes that filled him up before leaving him empty. They talked when separated, if brief texts and emails counted, and everything was fine.

He’d managed to achieve that dream people went their entire lives without achieving. Without even knowing about, sometimes, because it’s all too easy to dismiss it as a fairytale.

Arthur thrives off of fairytales.

And then he had to go and fall in love with the man, an action that had the potential to ruin everything.

It doesn’t start slowly or happen all at once, and it doesn’t hit him over the head like a gaudy neon sign suddenly glaring in his eyes. This wasn’t a badly written romance novel, and Arthur had read enough of those to know the difference.

No, one day while they were on one of their dates (they were in the twenties, but Arthur couldn’t remember if they had decided the time in Glasgow counted or not, as well as a few other arguable occasions, so the exact number was unknown) Arthur had just looked over and had seen the truth.

They were in Vegas watching Cirque De Sole because Eames had insisted it would be brilliant, and the Blue Man Group tickets had been sold out so Arthur hadn’t put up much of a fight. And it had been brilliant, it really had, and at one point, watching the performers’ almost inhuman actions, Arthur had turned to say something to Eames. It would have been a quip about how that particular move would make an interesting sex position because he knew Eames was always utterly delighted whenever he did anything that went against the image he projected. Or, at least, the image people perceived.

And when he had turned he’d caught Eames right at a moment where his face was clearly showing pure amazement and appreciation on his face, and right when something happened that Arthur couldn’t see because he was too busy looking at the man beside him, he had laughed almost disbelievingly at it.

How could he be disbelieving about anything? They worked in peoples’ dreams for a living. How was the fact that people could train themselves to contort and flip something that warranted this reaction?

He smiled fondly, shook his head, and went right back on watching the show, a warmth and contentment settling in his chest that had been there for so long now he knew there was no question that it was just for Eames.

And sitting there watching Cirque De Sole in Las Vegas, just off of one of the increasingly rare jobs he went on with Dom and Mal, he thought to himself, _I love this man._ And it wasn’t the first time that he had thought it. It was the first time he recognized that he had thought it, though.

It had been like the tune of a song you got stuck in your head, mindlessly humming parts of the chorus and getting brief clips of words at random intervals that you always seemed to forget right when you needed to identify the tune. It was a constant presence in the back of your mind that would flit through your thoughts briefly and randomly, forgotten as soon as it had gone. And then one day, as you hummed it under your breath, you were faced with some thought or object or presence that made you go, _“Oh right, that’s what it’s called. I knew that.”_

What he felt for Eames was a song he hadn’t been able to name until just now, and of course it was love. Of course. It was so obvious once you were faced head on with the words and full melody, though it had seemed an impossible puzzle previously.

And so he sat through the rest of the show unseeing, realizing that he needed a plan. After all, he couldn’t panic when he had a plan.

 

* * *

 

He might have been panicking a little, which was why he had left Eames in Vegas and flew to Paris that very night, hurrying to the safety of the flat Mal and Dom shared.

They’d been together for years, the three of them, a previously inseparable team that had gotten almost alarmingly codependent. They were his family and he loved them more than he had loved anybody outside of his mother, which was exactly why he had ran to them in the middle of his not-panic.

Mal opens the door, smirking at him and tilting her head in question.

“I am almost certain that we just got through seeing one another.” She notes lightly, stepping aside to allow him in. Once inside the modern but cozy space, more familiar to him than any of his safe houses were, he found he could finally breathe.

“I’ve ran into a bit of a problem.” He admits, and her eyes sharpen. “Not that kind, just…”

“Shall I get Dom?” She asks, the faintest trace of a smirk on her lips and he laughs and shakes his head. Adding Dom to the equation would help absolutely _nothing._

“I think it would probably be best if I talked to you.” He admits as he follows her in to the kitchen, allowing himself to be placed into the breakfast nook.

She makes tea, more so that he has time to gather his thoughts rather than out of a want for it, and Arthur was grateful. A little embarrassed, but grateful.

“I, uh,” He hesitates, staring down into his cup so that he could avoid her watchful eyes, “I met my soulmate.”

“Arthur!” She gasps, delighted, reaching out to give his wrist a happy squeeze, “When?”

“A… Year ago.” He winces as she takes her hand away, and shoots the now disapproving woman an apologetic glance. “Sorry.”

“Is he something to be ashamed of?” She demanded to know, sitting up straight and pushing her dark hair behind the delicate whorl of her ear. She was wearing the earrings he had helped Dom pick out for their anniversary, and he was pleased to note that he had been right. She did make them look even more impossibly elegant.

“No,” Arthur assured her, “I just, I don’t know, I wanted to keep him for myself, I guess.” He shrugs, feeling like a fumbling teenager all over again. It was how he usually felt when confessing his secrets to her, though.

She sighs and then nods, taking a sip from her tea. “I suppose I can understand. But really, a year?” She shoots him a disapproving look, and he feels like withering beneath it.

“I know. Sorry.”

She waves her hand gracefully, putting it behind them easily. “Ah, it is fine. To repay me though, you need to tell me about him. What does he do?” She demands, her eyes cunning and ready to decide whether or not this man she had never met was worth her Arthur.

It was an impossible task to go against for sure, but she was prepared to be surprised. Well, not really, but it was at least a _possibility_.

“He’s a forger.” She makes a noise from behind her teacup, and he can’t really tell if it’s approving or not. “He’s good, really good. He also does some art and real life forgery in his spare time, and he’s good at that too.”

“Ah,” She hums appreciatively, “And _artiste_. Perfect for you, obviously. You deserve someone else that can see the beauty in the world like you do.”

He scoffs a little, but doesn’t argue. He knows better than to do that.

“What else, what else? You have had a year, so there must be something more. I require something more.”

He hesitates a moment, wondering how one goes about describing Eames.

“He’s kind of a dick.” He starts, which is not the best way to sell someone, or anything really, “He teases a lot, has a horrible fashion sense, and he thinks he can just flirt his way out of any situation.” Arthur huffs, rolling his eyes at a particular memory, “One time, we were at the British Museum and he was so excited to show me this one piece, right? And we get there after weeks of him promising me that it was going to be amazing, and they had taken it back for repairs or something that week. So, instead of accepting it and moving on like a regular person he goes to find an archivist and tries to flirt our way back to see it.”

“Did it work?” Mal asks, eyes glittering in the lovely way that they did whenever she was amused. Arthur rolled his eyes.

“Yes. She even gave us a bit of a tour, and he was so smug afterwards because I had kept on telling him it wouldn’t work.” Mal laughs at the put-upon look on the man’s face.

“He has a stupid sense of humor and he’s always trying to show off and one up everyone and the sexual innuendos are almost painful, but still,” Arthur looks down at his barely touched tea and feels a bit awkward suddenly, “He’s fine.”

“Oh Arthur,” Mal sighs, “Oh, _mon ami_ , how long have you loved him?”

“For a bit now, I think.” Arthur smiles weakly at her, not at all surprised she had reached that conclusion. The fact that he loved Eames felt stunningly obvious to him, like it was tattooed directly on his forehead, “And I’m not all that sure what I should do. Which is why I’m here.”

She nods like it was something she had already known, and cups his hands tenderly between hers.

“You will do what we all must do once we begin to love,” She tells him gravely, and he pays attention like someone would when they were being told the very secrets of the universe, “Decide if the fall is something you wish to give yourself to, or decide if you would rather not.”

He blinks at her before laughing, just the hint of dimples peeking out as he squeezed her hands.

“I’m pretty sure most people believe you can’t stop yourself from being in love.” He tells her and she scoffs, rolling her eyes as she pulls her hands away.

“And those people, what do they know? If you do not want to love a person, then it is a sign that you don’t. If you see what is wrong with them in a bad way, and know you should stay away, then it is not love. No matter what the little children say.”

Arthur laughs and takes a sip of his now cold tea, “You’re very cynical about love for a French person, you know.”

She waves that away easily. “I see the truth, and I say it. Love is not the child’s game they teach.”

Arthur shakes his head and looks at the wall for a moment, thinking.

“How do I decide if I want to be in love with him?” He asks, and she huffs and shoots him a small glare.

“You use your mind, obviously. Analyze your heart and don’t be stupid. If you think you are being stupid, do not do it. Stupidity is for teenagers.”

“And what if I decide I want to love him? What do I do about him then?”

She huffs again and takes both of their cups to the sink, pouring the remaining contents down the drain.

“Then you either keep it to yourself and suffer, or you tell him and see what he says. If he loves you, good. If he does not, either deal with it or leave it alone.” She turns back to him and crosses her arms over her chest, leaning back against the counter, “Now go. I do not want any more of your questions. Take a walk and figure it out, then come to dinner. And grab bread while you are out, I forgot to ask Dom.”

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t even reach the street before he knows the answer to whether or not he wants to be in love with Eames. Of course he does. Eames is everything he had told to Mal and Arthur liked that about him, liked that his was such an asshole sometimes because Arthur was too and it was fun when they were together. Until Eames he hadn’t really and truly had fun for years, and it was so relaxing to not have to keep up the infallible and unbreakable persona he had constructed years ago when he had been determined to never let anyone hurt him. Not like _that_.

Not ever.

With Eames he could relax and go to see fucking Cirque De Sole in Las Vegas on a whim, and actually have fun and enjoy it and enjoy who he was with and enjoy _himself_.

How could he not love Eames when the man gave him space to actually be him? No one else did that, not really, not even Mal and Dom. To them he was the promising kid they’d picked up and had never really let go of, a favorite stray. He was a pet and a friend and a sometimes sort of son and as much as he loved them it was stifling and suffocating in a way that had led to him calmly telling them one day almost two years ago that he was no longer feeling like their team dynamic was what he needed.

He’d left, and they hadn’t argued much. They had probably figured he would come back after getting it out of his system and everything would be as it had been, like he was some rebellious teenager and they were taking the hands-off approach to parenting. They were probably still waiting despite the fact that _he did not want them to_.

Eames though, Eames wouldn’t let him. He’d give him space if he asked for it, sure, but he wouldn’t just let Arthur walk away and sit back. He’d be demanding and infuriating and always in Arthur’s business. He wouldn’t leave it alone until he knew the whys and hows and probably not until he’d fixed whatever was wrong while being his smug dick self.

He’d be worried, and that was nice. Having someone care about him and not care that he was maybe the most competent person in the world and could handle himself, it was nice. Because sure, he could handle it, but Eames would insist on handling it with him and that was everything he had ever wanted.

So of course he loved him.

But did he want what they had now to change?

It wasn’t dating, even though they called them dates. They would never imagine to call each other boyfriends because nothing remotely romantic had ever happened between them, and with how their relationship had started everything had been too unsure and too tentative for romance to be allowed to bloom. They barely even touched one another because that sweet burn was just waiting for even the briefest brush of skin and it terrified and liberated the both of them each time without fail.

They were something more than friends, something less than lovers, and Arthur was terrified that any change he made to the status quo would just ruin everything.

He remembered that plan, long ago scrapped, and of how he had just assumed he and his soulmate would be romantically together. He’d known there were other sorts of relationships, because obviously his research had been thorough, but he had planned for what he had hoped would happen.

And yes, he wanted that with Eames.

He wanted to touch him, bold and unafraid, to run his hands down those almost indecent arms and hold on for dear life. He wanted to go slowly, to take him out of those shirts like the world would shatter if he dared to hurry, to trace his fingers down his sides and savor. He wanted to find every scar and mark on his body and mark over them with lips and tongue and teeth because Eames was _his_ and only his, and he wanted to lay a claim so deep on the man no one could dispute it.

He wanted to kiss him like he had always dreamed of being kissed, to breathe him in and keep pieces of the man inside of him forever. He wanted to look into those eyes and never know anything else, just the two of them together as if that was all that they would ever need. He wanted to lay on the couch and read while Eames painted or drew, cursing at his canvases because they were the ones in the wrong. He wanted to invade every space the man held as his own and insinuate himself there so that no matter where he turned he would see Arthur and would never be able to forget.

He wanted to curl around him at night and listen to the sound of his heart as he drifted off to sleep. He wanted to figure out who would do which chore, and what their living room layout would be, and he wanted to deal with Eames inevitably changing whatever Arthur had decided because the man was on a random _feng shui_ kick or just because he was a bastard looking for attention. He wanted to continue the stupid arguments they had previously laid to rest but had never forgotten, like one memorable one over how the characters on Veggie Tales were able to move things without arms.

He wanted.

 

* * *

 

“So, have you decided?” Mal asks later that night at dinner, long fingers twirling spaghetti onto her fork idly, far more interested in Arthur’s melodrama then sustenance. Arthur sighed.

“Yes.”

He valiantly ignores the woman’s insistent eyes, looking instead to her befuddled husband.

“Have you gotten any interesting cases in the past few days?” He asks innocently, pretending that Mal’s eyes weren’t stabbing at him much like an insistent sociopath would use a knife to filet him.

“Oh, well, yes.” Dom manages, eyes flickering between the two of them as his forehead wrinkles in confusion. He didn’t question it though, figuring it would be best if his wife just dealt with it without his interference. Less chance of injury or pain that way. “There is this job in Ibiza-”

Mal slaps her hand on the table, causing the dishes to shiver and both men’s attentions to swing to her. “Tell me what you have decided,” She demands shortly, “Or I will turn violent.”

Arthur huffs but turns to her, figuring it would be best to just get it over with quickly. Fast and relatively painless, like a gunshot to the head to kick yourself from a dream.

“I decided that I’m going for it.” He tells her as shortly and as vaguely as he could, kind of wanting Dom to stay out of it. Dom was sure to be supportive, Arthur knew, but if he ever managed to figure out the name and whereabouts of who he was with then how he chose to show that support could become troublesome. Liking going off during the night to find Eames and talk to him, ruining everything in his efforts to bring the other man into their happy little family. It was a terrifying but likely notion.

Mal would undoubtedly search for the man, but she was more likely to trust that Arthur could handle it on his own and wouldn’t actively interfere. At least for the first few months anyways. If anything dared to mess up she would be inserting herself into the situation quicker than Arthur could manage a phone call to beg her to just leave it alone.

The woman smiles, relaxing and reaching out to give Arthur’s hand a quick squeeze. “Oh Arthur, I am so happy.” She laughs, her beauty striking. Arthur smiles back, relaxing a bit under the reassuring weight of her pleasant enthusiasm.

Dom blinks, confused.

“Why are we happy for Arthur?” He asks, automatically on board for supporting the younger man but still curious as to the whys. Arthur diligently went back to his spaghetti, not looking up as the married couple had a conversation about him right over his head.

“Arthur found his soulmate.” Mal excitedly confides, and Dom almost jerks back from the shock of it, eyes wide and his smile easy.

“Seriously?” He laughs, knocking Arthur’s shoulder and shoving him sideways in his seat a bit in one of his signature signs of awkward affection. Arthur took the loving abuse easily, so used to it that he didn’t even get any pasta sauce on his suit, “Congratulations. Who’s the lucky man?”

Mal shrugs one shoulder in a classy sort of way no one else could ever dream of perfecting, eyes flitting over to Arthur for a moment of assessment. “Who knows? He has not been forthcoming with a name.”

Dom’s eyes go wide and hurt, swinging to his young friend and almost begging him to just spill all of his secrets. Arthur had an immunity though because Eames’ were much more compelling, and continued on eating.

“It is no matter,” Mal waved it away, “He will tell us if he is ready.”

“When he is ready.” Dom challenged, and Mal lifted one of her eyebrows at him in an intimidating dare.

" _If._ And Arthur has only just decided to peruse the man romantically, so it will be a long wait for our introduction if it comes.” She shrugs again, going back to her food. Dom fixates on that little bit of information though, and turns his head to stare at Arthur intently.

“How are you going to go after him? I can, you know, give you some tips.” Dom offers, feeling proudly paternal of his friend. Arthur side-eyed him a moment, wondering how to politely say the resoundingly negative phrases he was thinking, but then he glanced at Mal and considered. If Dom could get Mal then…

As if hearing his thoughts – Arthur wouldn’t be surprised – Mal snorts derisively into her wine.

“You could not woo a cow toward hay.” She scoffs, “You acted a buffoon toward me every time you tried to say a word in the beginning. Like you were not even a person, but a monkey someone had taught a few words and tricks to, though badly.” She shoots Arthur an exasperated look, “I hear my father talk of a charming boy in one of his classes, and then I think, ’I will meet him. If he is handsome and smart, I might date him.’ And I do meet him, and the first thing he does after staring at me like a stupid in the head idiot is make a crude joke and laugh too loud. He is lucky I forgave him.”

He had never actually heard the story about how they’d met, and it was a little bit different from how he’d pictured. Arthur slides a glance at the other man questioning his sanity, and Dom looks more than a little embarrassed.

“Well then, what’s your advice for what I should do?” He asks the still stewing woman, and she shoots him a glare like he was just as stupid as Cob had been when they had first met.

_“Seduce_ him.” She tells him slowly, like he were a special brand of idiot, and well, stated that simply it certainly felt like he was.

 

* * *

 

Arthur starts with a phone call, laying back on the comfortable bed held within his little Parisian flat that was only just barely big enough for his needs. He’s wearing comfortable pajama pants and a T-shirt that may or may not have been Eames’, and lounging on a pile of too many fluffy pillows, almost content. There was just one thing missing.

Eames picks up after a few rings, voice bright and warm.

“Darling, I see that you can’t get enough of me.” He laughs, and Arthur immediately settles back, a slight smile on his face.

“You’re delusional,” He laughs, idly starting to play with a small hole in the hem of the shirt, “What are you up to?”

“Ah,” The man sighs dramatically, “I’m languishing here in states, wondering whether or not it’s worth it to be here. On one hand, it’s awful, on the other, you lot have Ihop here.”

Arthur snorts.

“Ihop is the only thing you like about America? The only thing saving an entire country from your complete hatred is a cheap breakfast chain?”

“They do more than breakfast, though I have yet to try any of it. And, well, you of course Darling, but you’re wherever you are right now and I’m here wandering around being miserable.”

“There’s no reason to be miserable,” Arthur manages past the lump in his throat, “Ihop is open 24 hours.”

Eames laughs and Arthur breathes and wishes that he was there or that Eames were with him, just so that he could smell his sandalwood cologne overlaying his lavender body wash – _Because Darling, why should silly gender norms keep me from smelling wonderful?_ – and see the gleam of his teeth as he smiled and talked and why did he miss him, it had hardly been two days since they’d seen each other last.

“I want to go on another date.” He says to the emptiness of his room after Eames’ laughter fades away, and there’s a pause.

“We just left each other,” Eames teases lightly, a hint of an unasked question underneath.

_I know,_ Arthur thinks _, staring up at his ceiling, I know but I miss you. I want to see you. I love you._

“I’m bored.” Arthur says simply, and Eames laughs again.

“I see, you just want me to amuse you for a tick before you fly away again and leave me to my own devices.” He teases, and Arthur huffs out a quiet breath of laughter.

“Maybe.”

“So, where are we going on our new date?” Eames asks, and if Arthur closes his eyes he could imagine Eames’ smile, the little quirk of his lips that weren’t quite full smiles but those were just a laugh away, eyes bright, just a touch of deviousness in them.

He wondered if the man was lazing around, if his hair was unstyled and falling softly on his forehead, if he was wearing one of his terrible sweaters he gleefully found in thrift shops. He wondered, and he wanted.

“Somewhere quiet.” He tells him, “We can stay in the states if you’re afraid you’ll miss pancakes too much.”

“You’re kindness knows no bounds, Lovely. And, in fact, I think I know just the place.” Eames purrs, and Arthur smiles and as they talk he idly imagines that future he was starting to construct in his mind for the two of them, together.

 

* * *

 

He had to be joking.

“You have to be joking.” Arthur huffs, sternly staring at the gleefully grinning man in front of him. He’d gone along with it when Eames had told him to catch a flight to Arizona, figuring that despite the fact that he’d never heard of anything worthwhile existing in Arizona, Eames knew what he was doing. He’d thought maybe there might be a job, maybe it was… something. Anything. Maybe Arizona had a secret that only this strange British man knew, he’d thought. So he’d gotten in the car with this maniac who had promised that he would drive them to a place of wonders for their date.

“Why are we at the fucking Grand Canyon?” He bites out, and a mother of a passing family of like, ten small children and dear God why, glares. So of course he glares right back, harder and more deadly that the woman would ever think possible, and she quickly scampers away with her too large brood.

“It will be relaxing.” Eames says with his fucking smile.

“It’s the Grand Canyon.” Arthur says flatly.

“I know. Exciting, isn’t it?” He enthuses, the glint in his eyes telling Arthur that the man knew exactly what he was doing.

“We are not geriatric retirees traveling the landmarks of the country, and neither are we a suburban family renting an RV, so why the hell are we here?” He asks sharply, ignoring the numerus looks they were getting. Eames continued to look angelic and too fucking happy for his own good.

“It’s one of the great natural wonders of the world.” He says almost serenely, and Arthur glares even more harshly than before.

“Fucking CNN made that list.”

“How did you know that off the top of your head?” Eames asks curiously, like nothing was wrong with the world and like they weren’t at the Grand Canyon.

“Eames.” Arthur grits out, “Why?”

“Well, you wanted something relaxing for our date, and I thought to myself, _‘What is the most relaxing thing we can do?’_ and then I realized,” He made a bold sweeping arm motion, “Mindless tourism!”

“Seriously?” Arthur bites out, and Eames smiles.

_Seduce him,_ Mal’s voice calls out to him in his subconscious, and Arthur realizes that yelling at your soulmate at one of the seven natural wonders of the world (as stated by CNN) is not the best seduction tactic.

So he grits his teeth, bites out, “Fine.”, and smoothly turns and begins marching forward.

He’d wanted romantic. He’d wanted a quiet place it could be just the two of them so that he could figure out how to go about this, and then he would have seduced the shit out of the infuriating dick of a man who was now cautiously following behind him. Instead he got a fucking overgrown hole in the ground and some fucking rocks.

How was he supposed to work with this? He was inventive and good with figuring out problems, but he wasn’t a magician.

All around him people were acting like this was the most fascinating place in the world, and Arthur was tempted to scream because everything was ruined and they were all _stupid._

"Arthur, Darling,” The king of the stupids calls out like he was on his way to being worried, “Is everything alright?”

Arthur freezes and an entire frigid tirade about how he was feeling was on the tip of his tongue, but then he remembered Mal telling him _“Seduce him,”_ and…

He turns and smiles a smile that he made sure didn’t look violent or enraged or infuriated, “What could be the matter, Eames?” He asks, his voice happy, “After all, we are at the _Grand Canyon.”_

Eames looks vaguely terrified. Arthur has no worldly idea why, so he turns back around and makes to go to some place where he could see this wonder of nature.

“Darling,” Eames calls again, more than a bit alarmed, and Arthur turns to him again, putting a lot of effort into maintaining his smile.

“Wh-“

Arthur knows the feeling of a gun being pressed against his back, knows it well, and he hates it. Which is why it’s just icing on the cake that that is the feeling he has to put up with now at the edge of this stupid pit.

“I knew you’d find me,” A quavering voice whispers behind him, “I… A part of me thought that I was free but I knew…”

Arthur stares into Eames’ hard eyes and shakes his head minutely, eyes flicking to the civilians milling around them, with all of their numerous children and fanny packs (the true blight on humanity.) This wasn’t a dream, and if a bullet got away from them Arthur knew it wouldn’t end well.

Slowly, hands up so that whoever it was could see that he didn’t have any weapons, Arthur turns to look at who was not holding him captive in a sea of bystanders.

Flat brown hair, a nose a bit too big for his face, worried green eyes, and too many freckles. It takes a minute for Arthur to place him but when he does…

“Gary? Are you serious right now?” He asks flatly, and the other man attempts to glare. He was softer looking than he had been a few years ago, but Arthur never forgot a face once he decided it was worthwhile to bother remembering anything about them.

“Walk,” The man grits out, jerking his head at Eames to let him know he was expected to follow the orders too. Eames slowly nods before turning around and they all take a few even and measured steps. They’re only allowed that before another voice stops them, young and demanding.

“Daddy, where are you going? Who are these guys?” Gary jerks as if he had been shot and stares at the little girl with blonde pigtails that had come up to them in horror.

“J-Just friends! We’re going to go have a chat for a minute, so go back over to Mommy, Winona, and I’ll be over in a moment.”

She stares at them, suspect, before shrugging and whirling around to run off without another word. Gary relaxes just the tiniest bit, and Arthur has no Idea how this was going to go because all of his past experience with guns held against him didn’t have anything to do with quite so many actual innocent bystanders or the gunman’s child.

They walk silently back to the parking lot, and Arthur doesn’t bother to talk until he’s been shoved into the backseat of a family SUV alongside Eames, Gary clambering into the front, his gun just barely wavering in the silence. Arthur tries to valiantly ignore the doll at his feet, but since its devil eyes insisted on staring at him it was more than a little bit difficult.

“How’s it going, Gary?” Arthur asks easily, hoping that the man wouldn’t shoot them and get blood all over his daughter’s toys for both the good of his body as well as the good of his heart.

“I knew you’d find me,” Is all he says, and Arthur nods, seeing that he wouldn’t be getting many coherent statements out of the man.

“You can’t shoot us,” He tries, “We’re in your car, at a national park, with hundreds of people around us. That isn’t something you want to do.”

“You’re right.” He says brokenly, and Arthur thanks that they’ve won until the man directs them into the little bit of space left in the back in between luggage and ties them up, draping a blanket over them to hide the fact that he had tied up two men and locked them in his car.

They lay there for a minute after the man walks away, muttering to himself, “Need more time to think,” and then Eames explodes.

“Who the fuck was that?” He hissed, wiggling a bit because the wheels of one of the suitcases was digging into his back, but movement was a bit difficult because the space they were in was minimal enough without two fully grown men shoved in.

“Gary.” Arthur says simply, and when Eames huffs angrily it’s right on his face and what had he been eating?

“I know that Darling, got that from listening to the titillating conversation you had been having, but I’m just wondering who the fuck Gary is.”

Arthur sighs. “A few years ago he was working as the chemist on a job with Mal, Dom, and myself, and when we were under for longer than we were supposed to have been because of something he had slipped into the formula, he’d taken off with our earnings.” Arthur shrugs as much as he can, “We were a bit busy running from the botched job so we didn’t have time to look for him until it was too late to find a trace of him.”

“Wonderful. So now he thinks you’ve come after him and he’s half tempted to kill us.” Eames bites out, “This is just the perfect addition to this terrible day.”

“Well, excuse me, Mr. Eames, I seem to recall you being the one to drag me here to this terrible tourist trap.” Arthur snarls, and Eames bares his teeth at him in an animalistic manner.

“What’s wrong with the Grand Canyon?”

_“Everything,_ oh my god.”

“It’s the Grand Canyon!”

_“Exactly!”_

“I thought it would, I don’t know, cheer you up!”

“Why do I need cheering up?” Arthur snapped, brow wrinkling in confusion, “Do I seem unhappy to you?!”

“No Petal,” Eames says, his voice heavily sarcastic, “You are the epitome of happiness and contentment right now.”

“That’s because we’re at tied up in the trunk of an SUV at the mother-fucking Grand Canyon!” Arthur snarls, “It is a physical impossibility for me to be happy right now.”

“No, before!” Eames protests angrily, “You ran out of Vegas like you were being chased out at gunpoint and then almost a day later you call me up and ask for another date! It’s irregular behavior! Suspicious behavior!” Eames snaps as he gets his hands free from his binds. Arthur actually scoffs.

“You idiot, that wasn’t me being upset.” Arthur sneers, his own binds coming undone a moment after Eames’, just a bit slower because he’d been put in a bit more awkward of an angle.

“Then what was it then?” Eames angrily asked as he wiggled around to try and find the room to undo the ties around his feet, “Because there was that and then you’ve been acting weird here today, smiling like a serial killer and all that. Pretending to be happy when it was quite obvious you weren’t.” He accidentally elbows Arthur in the face, and the pain of it is the breaking point.

“It’s because I figured out I am in love with you, you ass!” Arthur snarled, pushing away. Eames is frozen for barely a moment before he’s pushing back.

“You’re just going to say that? Here and now?” Eames angrily questions, more than a little confused, “Because you know what, I happen to love you too, despite the fact that you are the most infuriating man to walk the Earth you twat.”

“Good!” Arthur sneers, and Eames nods once, sharply.

“I thought so!”

They both pause for a moment to catch their breath, and suddenly it hits Arthur what had been said and he has to get out. Right that moment all he needed or wanted out of life was to get out of the car. He shoves at Eames and the surrounding luggage until he can sit up, and then he’s scrambling over into the back seat and then out the door onto the pavement, taking a few deep and measured breaths.

“I do love you,” He admits up to the sky as Eames clambers out of the car, and there is a lengthy pause between them as they just breathe for a moment and let that settle between them.

“And I love you back.” Eames says softly, stepping forward to brush and settle his fingers over the sleeve of his Arthur’s shirt, careful not to touch skin.

"I want a real relationship,” Arthur admits, still to the sky, “I want date-dates and kisses and spending the night together and… I want sex, with you, if that’s all right.” Arthur swallows past the awkwardness and feels Eames take a step closer, near enough now that he could feel the heat from his body.

“I would like that more than you know,” Eames admits, carefully tracing his fingers down the lines of his arm, “I’ve had a few too many dreams about you and myself in some lovely positions together.” He says lightly, hoping to break the tension.

Arthur chuckles and can’t help himself from being a dick. It was, after all, his default setting.

“You can’t dream. It’s a side effect of the somancin.”

Eames huffs. _“Imaginings,_ then. Fantasies to tide me over during the day. Filthy stories I write in my free time and post on the internet for the amusement and titillation of the world.”

Arthur blinks and looks at him finally, narrowing his eyes as he tried to figure out whether or not he was being a truthful dick-hole or a lying one.

“Of course you would,” He sighs once he realizes the truth. “I don’t suppose I’ll get to see these stories at any point in time to make sure they aren’t positively terrible, will I?”

Eames smiles rakishly and Arthur valiantly pretends that he doesn’t find it charming.

“Only when our sex-life becomes a bit too dull.” Eames promises, taking a step toward the still man. A hint of a smile dances across the point man’s lips, and Eames wants nothing more than to coax it into a full-fledged thing so that he could see those lovely dimples that were teasingly staying just out of reach.

“I feel that it’s a bit dull right now,” Arthur notes, leaning toward the engaging presence beside him, just barely out of reach, and for a moment neither of them breathes. They’re at the precipice of something great, something they both wanted so badly but were a little too scared of.

"I had planned to seduce you today,” Arthur admits, only partially truthful because actually he had had a plan that would have spanned the length of a few months. But, as always, Eames was never the sort to go along with Arthur’s plans, especially when he didn’t know of them. He should have known better.

They stare into each other’s eyes, caught by the moment and each other and all of the feelings that were rushing through them. It was a bit like when their skin touched, but still the only contact between them was Eames’ fingers on Arthur’s jacket so that feeling was just them.

“I must admit,” Eames says gravely, “I am feeling rather seduced right now.”

“Same,” Arthur admits without a thought, and it breaks the spell so much better than anything else could have. Eames’ head gets thrown back, his shoulders heaving from the force of his laughter as his eyes closed and he loudly dispelled the mood.

“Oh Darling,” He chokes, tears gathering in his eyes as Arthur angrily fumed, “Oh, I do love the sheer poetry that comes from you lips every time you open your mouth.”

“Shut up,” He huffs, the tips of his ears turning red from his embarrassment, “I hate you.”

_“Ditto.”_ Eames says seriously, taking on a Midwestern accent for no reason whatsoever for the word. He dodges the punch Arthur half-heartedly tries to land, laughing uproariously, and he catches Arthur’s wrist with a smile. It’s still over his clothes, layers separating their skin from touching, and the grip goes almost tender as they both realize.

It isn’t natural for Arthur to take the step forward. It’s a punch in the gut, bruising and painfully agonizing, brutal because of how unknown the pain was before this moment. It isn’t easy for them to stand there for that cautious second, throats tight and minds swirling with so many questions and uncertainties and what-ifs.

It’s the most difficult thing either man has ever done for Eames’ free hand to come up and hesitantly cup Arthur’s neck, neither of them jerking back at the much missed rush of everything only from sheer force of will. Neither can ever remember being this afraid as they slowly lean in, pausing just before completion because should it be this hard? Should it really be this terrifying?

But then one or both of them decides _fuck it,_ and leans in through that last bit of distance and it’s like everything the both of them had been waiting for right there between them, just waiting for this moment to come to life.

Arthur’s hand, the one not caught by Eames’, comes up to tentatively flutter over the other man’s face before settling down to cup his jaw as their mouths open into one another. The kiss is slow and quiet, gentle so as not to scare the other off and burning because how could it not be?

The bond between them thrums and hums happily, thriving after a year of starvation and misery, that previously overwhelming feeling reduced down to a simmer just under the surface of their skin because of the contentment. Adrenaline makes their hearts beat an almost too quick tempo, blood rushing through their veins like a fire as they learn one another in ways previously withheld.

Eames’s chin has the slightest bit of stubble that scrapes against Arthur’s palm as their mouths move, and there is a small patch he must have missed when shaving that is longer than the rest. His lips are just as soft as they had always looked, and he tasted faintly of the cheeseburger he’d gotten in the sketchy drive-thru Arthur had reluctantly been dragged through. The sound he makes when Arthur cautiously bites at that truly indecent bottom lip goes straight to his gut, and he makes it his life’s goal right then and there to learn every single one of those noises. _Intimately._

Arthur’s neck is slightly damp from the heat, the hairs there soft. His pulse at his wrist, when fingers eventually and slowly travel finally down to skin, is a few beats off from Eames’ and his skin there is rough from scarring. He tastes like the milkshake he had petulantly drank once Eames had bought it for him, and one tooth in the top row is crooked in a delightful show of imperfection.

They pull apart just as slowly as they had joined, reluctant for it to end. The sight of Arthur’s gentle eyes slowly fluttering open is something Eames immediately treasures, and the feeling of Eames’ thumb coming up to drag over Arthur’s lip like he was remembering the feel of them made Arthur’s breath and heart shudder.

“What will we do about this Gary fellow?” Eames asks quietly, hand brushing a few bits of Arthur’s hair into place, lingering. Arthur presses his lips together, wishing that doing so would keep the feeling of Eames on them forever, and sighs.

“I’m suddenly in a forgiving mood,” He notes wryly, Eames’ chuckle warming him like nothing else ever could, “So… Nothing. Anyways, if I questioned him about the money I feel like there would probably be a sob story dealing with that little girl and I really don’t want to deal with that.”

Eames nods, and a slight smirk plays over his lips.

“Well then, I say that means we have just enough time to enjoy the wonders of this great wonder of the world.” He says gleefully, his grin getting bigger at the flat, disbelieving look he received from the other man.

“Are you serious?” Arthur asked flatly, and Eames had never been so delighted by another person ever in his life. He drags him toward where all the crowds were amassing, knowing that he was only able to do so because the man was allowing it, and every time he caught the put out and annoyed look on the other man’s face he was filled with the most complete sense of utter joy he had ever felt in his life.

“I hate you,” Arthur comments simply as they contend with mobs of too loud families for a decent look, and Eames laughs.

_“Ditto,”_ He smirks, just as they finally get to the edge. Arthur looks down at it all, his face impassive, an unamused god looking down at his displeasing world.

“Wow.” He says flatly, obviously not impressed, and Eames cannot stop the truly irritating smile that insists on growing and staying on his face.

He gets a tourist to take a picture of them on his phone, that stupid smile of his and Arthur’s displeased face of stone immortalized forever on the device. Arthur later tries to delete it, but by that time it had already been sent to multiple other devices and had saved it on more than one backup.

It eventually ends up set as Arthur’s background on one of his phones, and every time Eames saw that the other man hadn’t deleted it he couldn’t help his grin or the kiss he pressed into whatever piece of him was closest.

Arthur pretended to hate it, but Eames knew better.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Confession time: This series is running away from me a bit. Oh well! Have a great day/night!


End file.
